Small Miracles
by TuesdayNovember
Summary: "Draco Malfoy hated Christmas; he hated every song, every mention of joy and miracles, because he knew that there was no such thing." Sometimes it's the smallest miracles that make the biggest difference in life.


**This is the first time I've tried my hand at 'heartwarming', so here's hoping it actually works. I suppose all the Christmas specials have gotten to me.**

**Merry Christmas, everyone!**

* * *

_Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black_

_Beloved Mother, Sister, and Wife_

_August 3__rd__, 1955 – December 25__th__, 2000_

•••

The wireless was always on, at Malfoy Manor. Since the aftermath of the war, the emptiness that became his family home, Draco Malfoy let the voices of half-known witches and wizards invade the manor. He never left it tuned to a station that played the news; no matter how they decided to present it, there was always an undercurrent of hatred towards him, his kind. No, the news was an unwelcome encroachment onto his territory. He much preferred the catchy melodies of popular songs. Banal, insipid, and trite, with lyrics about sex, and love, and heartbreak, they were so far removed from his sphere of understanding that he could ignore them peacefully, without the threat of his reveries being interrupted by words he did not wish to hear.

It had begun to snow not long ago, and with the change of weather came a change in the tinny music that blared from the wireless. Insipid love songs masquerading as Christmas carols behind a veil of references to presents and mistletoe now echoed off the cold stone walls of the manor. Draco had spent a fruitless half hour on the first of December twisting the dial to find a station that would forego the usual Christmas songs in favour of whatever medley of music was currently popular, but to no avail.

He had undergone this trial for years now, and each year he twisted the dial with less hope of respite from that music. It made no difference to him whether they were traditional carols or not; every song was an assault, and he was bitter.

Draco Malfoy hated Christmas; he hated every song, every mention of _joy_ and _miracles_, because he knew that there was no such thing. This year, like every year before, he would shut off the wireless, take bottles of Firewhisky into the library, and try to forget what day it was.

•••

Ginny Weasley had always loved Christmas. Even as she grew older, as the number of presents she received diminished with the siblings who attended dinner, she never grew tired of the hectic routine, of the songs and decorations and fuss. She saw it as a tiny bubble of happiness within the grey and early-darkening days of winter; a warm and blissful glow amidst the bitter cold of the season.

She bought her presents early and wrapped them all to a soundtrack of carols, but every year she still went out to the shops last-minute in order to feel the rushing of nervous energy around her, and to buy one or two more unnecessary gifts in solidarity with those who had forgotten to do so earlier.

On the morning of the 24th, Ginny awoke to a bright whirl of snowflakes outside her bedroom window. It was just windy enough for them to dance and flutter, and the sun had crept over the horizon just enough to tint the already blanketed ground a delicate shade of violet and salmon, just like the sky. She couldn't help smiling, or the feeling of undeniable warmth within her at the sight of something that was so purely and innocently perfect. It would be, she knew, a hectic day, for just after lunch, she planned to Apparate into Hogsmeade in order to buy a few more toys for her newborn niece.

The afternoon crowd in Hogsmeade on Christmas Eve was understandably buzzing with nervous energy, but Ginny, like every year, was pleased to note that in spite of their nerves, everyone was doing their best to be civil, in Christmas spirit. She flitted from shop to shop, looking for a suitable gift for her niece. Although still less than a year old, Ginny knew that any daughter of Hermione's would soon be prodigious enough to be interested in books, and so her first stop was the newly opened children's bookstore, off the main avenue. On her way there, however, she met someone she was not at all expecting to see.

•••

The morning of the 24th was always one of the hardest in Draco's life. He stumbled tiredly and unhappily into the wine cellars just after dawn, keeping the curtains drawn and retreating into the library with his first bottle of Scotch. More would come later.

Just after midday, for reasons his alcohol-addled mind could only obliquely comprehend, he was taken by a sudden urge to go to Hogsmeade. How he managed to Apparate that far in his inebriated state without splinching himself was a mystery, but not one he had any interest in dwelling upon. He stumbled through the streets, only half dressed, already having forgotten the reason for his journey.

It was as he was making his way down a half remembered side street that he quite literally bumped into Ginny Weasley.

"Oof!" he grunted, falling over backwards into the snowy sidewalk.

Throngs of people separated to flow around him.

The youngest Weasley bent over and offered her hand. "Malfoy?" she asked with barely contained puzzlement.

He mumbled something in response that would have been an insult, if he had been coherent enough to manage it.

"Malfoy, you're drunk!" she hissed, pulling him up. "And on Christmas Eve, of all days!"

"'Course 'm drunk," he growled, alongside a string of expletives as he dusted snow off himself. He looked at her suddenly, eyes narrowed, and said, "Why're you moving like that?"

Ginny was standing perfectly still. "How much have you had to drink, Malfoy?"

"Scotch. Two…" he blinked, pausing. "Three?"

"Glasses?"

He shook his head obstinately. "Not a lightweight," he managed to get out. "Bottles."

Ginny stared at him, agog. How he was still standing, let alone lucid, with that much alcohol in him was startling. Of course, very shortly after this, he began to swoon.

"Stop…" he said, "Spinning."

And then he had enough manners to turn slightly away from her as he bent double and began to retch, half swaying as he did so. Ginny held on to him to keep him from falling, and soon he began to crumple, falling limp into her arms.

Rose's Christmas gift forgotten, Ginny pulled a handkerchief from her pocket to clean Draco's face, before doing her best to drag him into the closest shop, where she politely, embarrassedly, asked if she could use their Floo.

•••

When she arrived at her flat, she deposited the slowly reviving man on her couch and hastened to brew him a cup of coffee, laced with her strongest anti-hangover potion.

It was some time before he awoke fully, and in the time that passed, Ginny had taken the opportunity to wrap the last of her presents and to dress for the party that Hermione's family was throwing that evening. When Draco awoke, he found himself on a strange couch, with a cup of steaming coffee by his head, no one in sight, and no memory of how he got there.

"Hello?" he called out groggily, tentatively.

Ginny poked her head around a door. "You're awake," she said. "How do you feel?"

He glowered at her. "Like I just fell a thousand yards off my broom."

"Have you had the coffee?" He continued to glower. "There's an anti-hangover potion in there."

He cast a glance at it, waited a moment, then took a sip. And another, and another, until he had drained the cup.

She walked over to where he was lying, and sat on a nearby chair. Although the war had ended six years ago, and in theory the tensions between the two rival factions was no longer a factor, a distinct feeling of awkward, discomfited tension settled itself between the two of them.

They had not seen each other often since the end of the war, and in that time, both had changed immensely, to the effect that it was as though they were sitting next to strangers.

"Malfoy," Ginny began tentatively. "Are you…are you all right?"

He gave her a dark look. "I'm fine, Weasley."

"But you were drunk," she pressed, "In the street on Christmas Eve."

"I'm fine," he repeated.

She sighed. "Would you like a Christmas cookie?"

He could barely suppress the disgusted look that crept onto his face, and she could hardly help noticing it.

"Eggnog, then? Non alcoholic, of course."

The look remained.

She sighed again. "Malfoy, I don't know what else I can offer you. I think I still have some Christmas tea, if you like…"

"Bloody hell!" he burst. "Enough with all the festive junk. Christmas is a stupid, pathetic excuse for a holiday," he snapped.

Her eyes widened. "You're still drunk," she said, more to herself than to him, unwilling to believe he would truly believe such a thing.

"Maybe," he said flatly. "But I still hate Christmas."

She stared at him. "But … why?"

He glared. "I'm not talking about it."

Were he anyone else, she would have pressed the matter, but with him, she let it rest. There was a tense silence, until Ginny finally said, "Another coffee, then?"

He shook his head. "I should go."

"No," she said firmly. "Not yet. I don't trust you to travel in this state."

He made a face and muttered something about 'nursemaid Weasley.'

"Have you eaten at all?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"Can I make you something?"

He frowned. "I'm fine."

"You haven't eaten all day," she said. "I'll make you a sandwich, at least."

He continued frowning.

When she emerged from the kitchen a few minutes later, she found him standing by the fireplace, flipping through a photo album. He put it down hastily when he saw her. "I…"

"It's all right, Malfoy. Come to the kitchen."

He did as she said, and sat where she had placed the sandwich and another cup of coffee. He ate in silence, and shortly after he began, she left the room to continue getting everything ready.

Time passed in silence, and when she returned to the kitchen, she found the dishes drying in a rack beside the sink, and Draco standing awkwardly by the table.

She smiled at him. "Thank you, Malfoy."

There was a long silence, tense and awkward, before Draco spoke the words he had not said in years. Quietly, tiredly, uncertainly, he said, "My mother died on Christmas."

He hated how pathetic it sounded, and although he had imagined that perhaps admitting this would make him feel…if not better, than at least something close to it, he only felt ashamed at himself.

Ginny took in a sharp breath. "Oh goodness. Oh Draco!" She had never used his given name before, and the word felt odd on her tongue. "I'm so sorry, I never knew!"

His features were inscrutable. He had gone this far, he thought, he may as well continue. "It was four years ago," he said dully. "And I don't celebrate Christmas anymore." He liked to think it wasn't even entirely a choice, as he no longer had a family with whom to spend the season.

"I'm so sorry," she said again, more quietly this time.

A few minutes passed in palpable silence. Draco sat down.

"Draco … Malfoy? I …" she hesitated a moment. "I know this is probably a little odd, but … would you like to come to Christmas dinner tomorrow?" She hastened to add, "My family wouldn't mind at all. In fact I'm sure they'd like having someone else come to dinner, and it might … be … fun…?" She trailed off when she saw his expression.

"I'm not coming to your family party, Weasley."

She decided it would be best not to press the matter. "Well…would you like to come over afterwards, instead?"

He frowned.

"Please? It might be nice to spend some time, um…"

"_If_ I come, I don't want to be listening to any damn Christmas songs."

She smiled. "No carols," she promised. "But is a Yule log alright? And turkey?"

He made a face. "If I must," he said, "Then I suppose I must."

She broke out into a restrained grin.

"_If, _Weasley. I don't know if I'll come yet. In any case, I should probably go now."

She nodded. "All right, if you're sure you can manage."

"I can," he said, making his way to the fireplace. "But Floo might be best."

She nodded again, and saw him out.

Glancing at the clock, she saw she only had another two hours to buy one more Christmas gift. For the first time in years, she knew she'd truly be one of the multitude of nervous, rushing shoppers in Hogsmeade, and the thought made her smile.

Perhaps the universe would provide its third small miracle of the day, and she would find something Draco Malfoy would appreciate for Christmas.


End file.
